


Happy Birthday

by Lynchy8



Series: Fun (and sad!) little drabbles [10]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming, love these two so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel pounces Feuilly one night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epeolatry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, sweet x

"Fuck!"

Feuilly wheezed as his back hit the wall, the air driven from his lungs as what felt like a freight train slammed into his midsection. The freight train in question chuckled darkly, moving to pin Feuilly's arms above his head.

"Bahorel, what the actual fuck?!" He attempted to struggle but he'd been caught off guard. The kitchen had been in darkness when he'd ventured out of his room to get a glass of water before retiring to bed for the night. He had assumed Bahorel was already sleeping. Now he was stretched up against the wall, painfully aware of Bahorel leaning against him, using his weight to keep him in place, hot breath against Feuilly's neck in the darkness.

"Did you honestly think you'd gotten away with it?" Bahorel's voice sent a shiver down Feuilly's spine and he swallowed in the close proximity.

"Did you think that I'd forgotten?"

There was a pause and then Feuilly gasped as a rough tongue licked up his neck, past his jawbone and up his cheek. He closed his eyes, submitting to the sensation. Bahorel could do what he wished.

He couldn't help the surprised sound that escaped him when his hands were suddenly released, but then Bahorel dropped to his knees and hands, strong hands, and nimble fingers were palming him through his trousers and making quick work of his zip. Feuilly leaned back against the wall, bracing himself as his hips were clamped in an iron grip, his only warning, before Bahorel swallowed him down.

In the haze of sensation, of wet heat and pleasure and _fuck Bahorel's tongue was wicked and evil and where the fuck did the guy learn how to give head..._ In all of that Feuilly tried to remember if Bahorel had ever blown him before.

Their encounters tended to be born of frustration, alcohol and violence. There was fighting and biting and scratching and conquering and fucking against walls and tables and carpets and, once, the door of one of the showers at the gym (something that had very nearly got them both banned, not to mention potentially arrested).

It was hard and fast and about getting satisfaction with very little finesse or foreplay. If Bahorel topped you were lucky if you got three fingers before he was taking you, claiming you, getting what he wanted from you. And Feuilly loved it that way.

But now the leviathan was on his knees, was looking up at him while he sucked at Feuilly's cock and _holy fuck_ that was hot. Feuilly groaned, his hips twitching under Bahorel's attentions.

Bahorel was teasing him, pulling off every so often to suckle the head, to lick playfully at the sensitive skin, his slit and then a long, slow lick along the length of his shaft, before taking him all in again, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

"Fuck, 'Rel!" Feuilly groaned, his hands twisting their way into the man's hair, his fingertips brushing across his undercut and knotting in the tresses of his mohawk.

Bahorel groaned in pleasure around Feuilly's cock, the soft vibrations reverberating through his skin. The whimper that escaped Feuilly's lips, the whine of need, was just verging on the embarrassing as he tried to fuck forward, to make Bahorel take more of him. But Bahorel was having none of it, holding Feuilly firmly against the wall. He might be the one on his knees but he was in charge of this. All Feuilly could do was lie pliant against the wall and hope his legs would hold out.

He felt his orgasm boil in his gut as Bahorel sped up, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. He tightened his grip on Bahorel's hair which only seemed to spur the guy on.

"Fuck, fuck, shit - don't stop!" Feuilly almost howled as Bahorel suddenly pulled off him, an evil glint in his eye. He rose up from his knees before grabbing Feuilly by the waist and slinging him over his shoulder.

Hampered by his trousers bunched by his knees, Feuilly could barely kick out as Bahorel carried him off out of the kitchen.

A hard smack landed on his arse as he was carried into Bahorel's bedroom where he was pretty much thrown down onto the bed. He was quickly divested of his trousers and he pulled his shirt off as Bahorel began to strip.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty ginger arse into the mattress. Any special requests?" The man grinned down at him as he reached to the drawer for some lube and a condom. Feuilly shivered at Bahorel's predatory gaze, still on edge, still horribly and perfectly close.

When he didn't answer, Bahorel climbed on the bed, taking hold of his flatmate and spinning him round so he was on his front.

This was more like it. This was familiar territory, Feuilly thought as Bahorel spat at his hole and a lube-covered finger pushed its way in, drawing a hiss from Feuilly as he enjoyed the slight stretch. All he could do was lie there and let Bahorel play and the man certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. Feuilly groaned and wriggled as a curious tongue lapped him, probed him. Strong hands massaged his cheeks, spreading them, while fingers and tongue went deeper, leaving him shuddering and gasping and practically begging for god knows what. For more, for it to stop, for Bahorel to get the fuck on with it and fuck him already.

He must have been saying some of this out loud because a sharp slap to his arse brought his attention back into the room, back to the man between his thighs.

"How'd you want this? Soft and sweet like a maiden's first time?" Bahorel teased at his hole, almost tickling it, before thrusting two fingers in hard, pressing his prostate and making his shout.

"Or rough and hard?"

Like he was ever going to want anything else. Feuilly forced his mouth to move, to frame the words he needed to say.

"Fucking fuck, 'Rel, just fuck me the hardest you can," he gasped out, eyes closed, hands reaching to grasp sheets in an attempt to keep himself there, to hold on to something...

He knew Bahorel was grinning, could almost feel that Cheshire Cat smile burning into his back. He raised his hips invitingly, willingly, and Bahorel pushed in.

Fuck, it always felt like this. It didn't matter that they'd fucked every which way since god knows when, it always felt like the first time; that burn and sensation of fullness and just the sheer relief of having Bahorel in him. And then he set up the pace.

Bahorel started hard and got harder. Hands clamped to hips, a series of quick and hard thrusts, followed by some slower ones, a brief respite before starting up again, Feuilly bent into a triangle, his shoulders and face pressed into a pillow. Then he was being lifted, strong arms around his waist and teeth in his shoulder, finger nails marking his flesh.

Then back down again as Bahorel took him, claimed him and just fucked into him, long and deep. Feuilly could have wept if he'd had the breath. As it was, one if Bahorel's hands found its way to the back of his neck and was pressing him into the mattress, the other hand keeping his hips in just the right place.

Bahorel shifted his weight, lying down, covering Feuilly's back as he continued to snap and roll his hips. He licked and bit his way across Feuilly's freckled shoulders, pausing to suck a mark into the man's neck.

"'Rel, oh fuck... 'Rel" Feuilly groaned, the sensations building again, his body treacherously close, just a little more, just a little more...

"Come on, shithead, you can come from just my cock in your arse," Bahorel leant back up again, speeding up his pace, angling just right to hit Feuilly's prostate.

It was too much. The sweat and the noise and the heat and fullness and _dear fucking god_

Feuilly came, whining loudly as he spent into the sheets, the relief of it flooding through his veins. His whole body relaxed, pliant underneath Bahorel who continued to fuck him mercilessly. It didn't take much more before Bahorel gave a final shout, his whole body coming to attention as he came.

Feuilly didn't care about the ridiculously needy whine he made when Bahorel pulled out. He was completely fucked out. Fucked and sore and sated and Jesus fuck.

He was vaguely aware of being moved, of careful hands and a damp cloth and then he was in Bahorel's arms, his back flush to the other man's chest. What finally brought him round was the almost soft kiss pressed to his forehead.

He turned his head, craning slightly to look at Bahorel, the man's face partly in shadow from the light of the bedside table lamp.

"Been waiting all day," Bahorel grunted. "Can't believe you did a full shift"

Feuilly grinned sleepily and, because it seemed like the rules didn't seem to apply today, he snuggled deeper into Bahorel's arms.

"Happy birthday, fuckwit" Bahorel growled, before reaching over to click the lamp off.


End file.
